dagung | TDM: January

Entry tags:

* tdm

TDM: January

Test Drive: January

All threads can be considered game canon,

the prompts and test drive itself will be

• Reserves Open Today! If you're interested in securing a spot, put one in! We accept applications without reserves too, of course. Reserves will expire three days before the end of the application period, on the 28th.
• Applications Open The 24th! These will last until the end of the month, the 31st, with the intro log going up on February 1st. The application page can be found here. As a reminder, this will be our last uncapped application round!
• If you have any questions about the game or the world, please refer to the FAQ page; if you still have questions, feel free to ask them! For questions specific to the test drive, please ask them on the appropriate thread.
• For the purposes of the test drive, your character will have access to all magics taught by the Coven if they're a Witch, and as much of their shifted form as you'd like if they're a Monster. Feel free to play around and experiment with each!
• Test drive threads can be used as samples for your applications!

You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the wind brushes playfully against your face -

and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that.

The Prehistoric Wilde

Thick summer heat hangs heavy over the uninfected landscape like a damp blanket, smothering. The jungle around you is thick and wet, full of the sounds of chittering animals and the high-pitched drone of insects. The flora and fauna are like nothing you've ever seen before, large and alien in colors and shapes, though they bear no signs of the Cwyld. Flowers the size of a man's head and brightly colored in rainbow hues curl their tendrils invitingly, and giant mosquitoes buzz through the air seeking a meal. You can barely see the glow of the twin moons through the thick canopy above. There are no signs of civilization - at least, not the civilization most will be used to; only the distant sound of the river, compelling you to follow its winding path. But will you go forward, or will you go back?

Rumble in the Jungle
Making headway through the jungle at night is a chore. The foliage grows thick and the humid heat is oppressive for even those who enjoy the warmth. There are no clear paths here, no easy way through. The canopy of the ancient trees far, far over your head is just as dense, but the faintest moonlight filters through the holes left by the huge leaves in stippling patterns across the musty forest floor. 'Large' seems to be the theme - lining whatever path you pick your way through, there are pitcher plants massive enough to swallow a grown man, with small animals and giant insects being digested down inside the sticky liquid that fills them. The flowers are as big as a man's head, and come in a rainbow of colors, their venomous tendrils curling toward signs of life. The trunks of some of the trees are as thick as houses, and shade the ground beneath them with leaves like umbrellas. The hand-sized mosquitoes thrive in the sticky heat and if not killed first, can make off with a full pint of blood from an unsuspecting person.

At some point in your journey, the ground begins to rumble beneath your feet. The farther you go, the longer you walk, the more signs of life become visible: thick, winding trails of crushed foliage, huge, animalistic footprints in the mud. Luckily, to this world, you are small and insignificant, and may escape the notice of the local Monsters - the massive, prehistoric ancestors of today's Monsters.

They seem like giants, colossal Titanoboa Nagas with hollow fangs like swords, towering Fauns with the lower halves of mammoths, sabertooth Turnskins, pterodactyl Harpies with leathery wings. Even the parts of them that resemble humans (and they have far fewer human-like parts than their modern counterparts) are larger than any actual human being. They operate primarily on instinct, made even stronger by the full moons above, and perceive the strange new creatures as threats - or food.

Sticking to the river seems safest - at least until you run into megalodon Merrow, singing an alien, but alluring, song to draw in prey, or the apex predator of this prehistoric world - Dragons, bigger and scalier than the ones Mirrorbound may know, stopped to drink at the river. All other Monsters flee from the huge reptiles, lest they become food themselves. Luckily you can defend yourself with your new abilities, or your neat changes - you're small, but not totally helpless.

Interesting to note... while all other Monster types are represented, there are no Fae or Chimeras in the Wilde here, and the Vampires are more like huge bat-monsters that traverse the jungle on all fours than humanoid bloodsuckers.

The Natives
Going backward, away from the distant sounds of the sea and against the current of the river, leads you through dense jungle. How long have you traversed the landscape? Hours? Days? Time passes funny in dreams. Eventually the trees thin out, grow taller and less leafy, and the air becomes drier. Instead of loamy soil beneath your feet, you start to feel rocky, harder earth, and spot outcroppings of stone. The sun begins to rise, which makes it easier to spot people on the horizon, a little settlement coming to life in the morning, nestled where the river forks into two.

They're much hardier than the familiar people of Aefenglom, sunburned and dressed in natural, rough fabrics. Their homes, if one can call them that, are shoddy little structures made of sticks and leaves and mud, pressed up against the sturdiness of the stone formations. And, when they spot strangers approaching their village, they scramble for their weapons - crude clubs, stone axes, even just large rocks snatched up off the ground.

The translation magic works on them, thankfully. Their speech is halted and simple, but they get their point across. Tell them who you are, or they'll beat your brains in. Monsters might get their brains beat in anyway if they aren't careful, even though they're much smaller than the Monsters these humans are used to. And Witches? May the gods help you if you use magic in front of these terrified, unevolved people, lest they mistake you for a Fae (the word is whispered with fear and revulsion in their voices) and swarm you with simple iron tools. If you're an actual Fae, an obvious Fae? They'll whisk their children into their huts protectively and then run you right out of the village. Violently.

The truly observant, or those who can see through illusions, among you may notice something strange, though. Some Fae actually seem to live among them, heavily cloaked in natural illusions, with the primitive humans none the wiser. There are just a few, but all of them look young, twelve or thirteen at the oldest, and they are all scared of their secret coming to light. Fae who get caught tend to be burned at the stake around here.

The Invaders
Perhaps you chose to go forward, with the current and toward the distant sound of ocean waves, where the river pours into the sea. More long-time residents of Aefenglom may notice that the shoreline is familiarly-shaped, but wider, bigger, not yet worn down by thousands of years of erosion. There is no bustling Harbor, only the waves crashing on the rocks, small islands dotting the water near the shore. There is no Bright Wall - there is no city, even, only an expanse of beach transitioning gently into an idyllic grove dotted with gauzy, pointed tents, and a beautiful, gilded ship half sunk into the sandy earth.

It seems safer than the jungle, at first - until you notice all the Fae. They're more insectoid than the ones many are familiar with, with big, glittering eyes and either bright, jewel-toned wings like dragonflies or butterflies, or delicate, leafy wings in greens and browns. They're also taller than modern, lesser Fae, though not by much, and they're thin and angular, standing on spindly limbs that barely seem able to hold them.

Characters receive a warmer welcome here, by the band of true Fae that have made their camp in the grove, though the alien-looking beings have a tendency to treat them like toys, children, or both, cooing over their sizes and their magic.
"Look at the little Monsters! Aren't they cute!"
"We should make some of our own! And oh, the little humans have magic! Delightful!"
It's hard to have a conversation with one - they're condescending at best, and at worst, flit off to another entertainment out of boredom while you're mid-sentence.

And entertainments abound in their camp. They're served and tended to like emperors by collared humans - adults and young adults do the heavy labor, including pulling grand little chariots for transportation, though there are some highly-supervised human children running about fetching drinks and fanning their Fae masters with palm leaves.

Farther out, a large, deep pit has been dug out of the earth, ringed by a waist-high barrier of logs, a few Fae gathering at the barrier and leaning over, talking in conversational, happy voices. Down below, Chimera gladiators fight for their amusement, while the Fae keep up running commentary, discussing each warrior's chances, new breeding prospects, interesting crossbreeds their fellows have come up with ("She's trying an Arachne and a Turnskin together, how delightful!"). Trying to disrupt the proceedings will only result in the Fae turning their magic on you - illusions and curses, nasty little tricks. Sit down, silly little ones! The fight is just getting good! Or maybe... Maybe they'll toss you into the pit to see what your chances are in battle.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

welcome to the jungle —

[ even if this giant, weird, unbearably humid forest isn't like the forests derek is used to, it's still a forest. he can navigate it fairly easily. not as well as he might have if he still had the super senses being a werewolf gave him, but well enough to dodge a lot of the larger monsters.

mosquitoes on the other hand? those fuckers are something else. derek's been bit a couple times by now. luckily, none of the mosquitoes have survived long enough to really get a meal but he does now have welts all up and down his arms. and a very pointy stick he picked up to stab bugs with. it was better than getting even more bug guts on his hands and then his jeans when he tried to wipe off his hands.

(look, his clothes are already so sweaty that a little bug juice isn't that huge a deal. it's gonna have to be washed anyway.)

the makeshift-spear is also good for brandishing when derek doesn't hear someone coming soon enough for him to hide. which is what he does when he finally hears footsteps behind him. with a deep frown, he whirls around and holds the stick in a... mildly threatening manner.

what do? ]

the invaders, pre-pit —

[ derek isn't a super personable guy on a good day. he's significantly less so after stumbling across the fae and their collared human children. if he'd had his way, he'd have avoided direct interaction with the fae. sadly, one of them caught sight of him before he could make himself scarce.

still, he sticks to the edges of things, arms crossed over his chest, and resting bitchface activated. he's keeping a close eye on whatever serving children he can keep an eye on. he's... also not listening very well to whatever fae decide to coo over him. that will probably end poorly at some point, but for now he's getting away with it.

and with ducking out of whatever conversation was happening around him to snag the elbow of whatever uncollared, non-fae creature he sees out of the corner of his eye. ]

Hey, wait a second.

the invaders, post-pit —

[ it was only a matter of time, really, before derek inadvertently pissed someone off, probably by ignoring the wrong fae or trying to talk to the wrong human. he ends up in the pit.

the fight is pretty damn brutal. derek's not exactly fighting to kill, but he is fighting to survive. and with a handicap. he's used to using claws and fangs in fights, not fists and feet. as such, by the time the match is over he's--not in the best shape. there's a number of claw marks across his bare chest. most of them are at least partially scabbed over at this point, but there's a few on his side that are still wet with blood. and he's got the beginnings of what's going to be a hell of a shiner.

away from most of the crowds, he gives himself a bit of a once-over. gently touches the edge of the still-wet marks and winces. those are gonna need a bandage at some point. it can wait for now, though. now he just lays down on the ground and stares up at the sky for a while. quiet. tired. already sick of whatever this place is. ]

wildcard —

[ hit me up with whatever! i'm open to just about anything. :> ]

[ Zelda doesn't think, initially, that he is someone like herself. Drifting from place to place, looking for peace in the dangers of this world. She assumes without asking that this is one of the people the fae have brought here with the interest of making him fight for their entertainment all his life. It's sickening. Children with collars on pass them and Zelda dips a bit in the interest of trying to catch his eye in a friendly, lighthearted manner. Thankfully, resting bitch face and "I've have a bad lifetime" face are no strangers to her. It'd be certainly understandable in the circumstances.

With her ears, it's easy to see she's not human, but she lacks the insectoid appearance of the fae. Truthfully, it's quite obvious she's an elf, but as a Hylian, she has no actual understanding of such a race. All the same, her clothes are clearly meant for travel and they've stained from blood and mud and dirt and mysterious plant fluids she'd like to forgot about stumbling into. The whole ordeal had been rather embarrassing! She's clearly traveled far to get here.

Tilting her head, she gives him a tentative, but apologetic smile. ]

Worse for wear but not down. Right?

[ the pointy ears don't really catch his attention much. not when he's so used to werewolves' ears going pointy when they shift. what does catch his attention is the blood and, uh, goop that's staining her clothes. they hold his attention for just a little bit more time than is probably polite, but he doesn't stare much. ]

Yeah. Looks like I'm not the only one.

[ he doesn't point at the stains, but it's pretty obvious what he's referring to. ]

[ To be fair, elves are probably not that interesting when you spend your weekends being the local broody-brood-dude and have kitsune to vanquish. At the very least, Zelda has spent a lot of time being the person gawked at, so hey. At least his mouth is probably closed. ]

No, perhaps not. Would you believe me if I said this is hardly the worst I've had it?

[ She raises a hand to hide her mouth while she laughs, one brow raised. ] Although, I must admit... I'm quite concerned that might be the case for you as well! So perhaps it is easily believable. No?

[ he tilts his head in acknowledgement. this is absolutely not the worst he's had it. which is both a little sad and also helping him deal right now. ]

I take it you're not from around here?

[ she doesn't exactly look like a local. derek can blend in a little bit more, but the lack of collar here, specifically, might make him stand out a bit. ]

Oh, shit.

[ Stiles raises his hands in mock surrender (all ten of them), expression twisted with bemused exasperation that’s belied by the very real fear in his eyes. ]

A wolf who’s learned how to use tools. Mankind is screwed.

[ Really though, the spear is way too close for comfort. Stiles gingerly tries to push it away from his face. ]

Can we, uh, not? Thanks. Also, hi.

[ the stick dips down a little, clearly a bit of an unintentional move while derek kind of. stares in confusion. he's almost doing the confused puppy headtilt. and just ignoring the wolf jokes for now because there are other things--eight of them to be precise--that are kind of holding all his attention right now. ]

... Hi. [ there's a bit of an awkward pause. ] What happened to you?

[ read as: why are you suddenly a horror-movie version of spider-man? ]

[ Typical. Dream Derek, supplied by his own slumbering unconscious, has the gall to question him about his unwanted spider appendages. Can his dream get any ruder? Jesus Christ. ]

I haven’t come up with my superhero backstory yet, [ he replies, cheeky as per usual. ] Got any origin story ideas? I could use a few.

[ The stick hasn’t been removed from the equation yet. Stiles edges away from it uneasily. This may be Derek, dream or not, but he’s not taking any chances. ]

[ with a quiet huff, derek switches the stick to only one hand and leans on it like it's a walking stick, not a weapon. honestly, after all the things they've been through, stiles still thinks derek's gonna hurt him? rude. ]

Bitten by a radioactive spider would be a little cliche, but it does have precedent. [ but seriously... ] You have no idea what happened, do you.

[ it's--not really a question. ]

[ Sorry, Derek! It’s nothing personal. Stiles simply knows not to trust his dreams. Nevertheless, he is relieved when the spear is finally removed from his personal bubble; the tension unwinds from his frame. ]

Should I? [ Maybe if he tries to break the fourth wall, he’ll wake up. ] This is a dream, dude. Plot holes and insanity galore.

[ He emphasizes this with jazz hands. The spider limbs participate, but the effect is somewhat ruined by their lack of fingers. ]

I'm not dreaming. [ ... ] If this was a dream, you'd be more helpful.

[ still, derek taps his fingers one after another against his leg. five on the left hand. the right'll have to wait until he swaps the spear to the other side. ]

And I'm pretty sure I wouldn't dream of you like-- [ he gestures to stiles', well. everything. ] This.

Yeah, you definitely lack the imagination to dream something like this up.

[ A spider limb tries to flex. It just looks like it’s suffering from a localized seizure. ]

Obviously, this is my dream. Capiche? Don’t think too hard about it, big guy. You’ll just hurt yourself.

[ The denial is strong in this one. ]

[ okay, that's it. he can't take it anymore. derek reaches out to grasp the seizing limb, gently but firmly. ]

Stop twitching.

[ it's annoying. ]

This isn't your dream. I couldn't think if it was.

[ i think, therefore i am and all that. ]

Hey, paws off!

[ Wow, you can’t just touch someone’s weird arachnid parts without asking for permission first!! Despite the verbal protest, however, Stiles allows it – only because it’s Derek, and Derek is pack. Even if the guy is currently who-knows-where doing who-knows-what. The spider limb, thoroughly chastised, goes limp in Derek’s hand. ]

First it’s, “I’m not dreaming.” Now it’s, “This isn’t your dream.” Make up your mind.

[ The ground trembles. Stiles freezes like a deer in headlights, his eyes darting from the woods to Derek and back again. ]

Or maybe we should postpone this chat.

If I'm dreaming--

[ yeah, okay, this debate can wait. derek looks around and internally curses the fact that he can't hear or smell as well as he normally does. maybe his senses wouldn't have told him anything more than he can glean just from looking around, but maybe they would've. ]

If that's an earthquake, there's not much we can do.

It’s not an earthquake.

[ The fine hairs on his chitinous-hardened wrists stand on end. Even with his improved vision in this mixed lighting, he doesn’t see what is causing the tremors. But he’s wandered through this dream long enough to know – ]

There’re things a lot bigger and meaner than you here. Something’s coming this way.

[ He’s not sure how he senses that, only that he’s certain of it. Dream intuition or a sixth spider sense? ]

We should move.

Right.

[ he spins his makeshift spear into a more ready stance. not that a stick is gonna do much good about things large enough to make the ground shake. ]

There's a place we can hide a little ways that way, if you can keep your extra limbs in check.

Yes, I can keep them in check, [ he snipes back testily, even as said limbs lunge for a nearby mosquito and jerk him off balance. ] Maybe. Listen, less judging, more walking.

[ Stiles crowds Derek, trying to hustle him into movement. Which, given the difference in their builds, is about as effective as Stiles trying to shoo a boulder. ]

C’mon, lead the way.

[ nice try, stiles, but all that crowding gets is an eyeroll before derek's moving through the foliage. a little ways away, there's a small hollow between two plants, mostly covered by giant leaves that derek motions toward. ]

You first.

derek hale | teen wolf | witch? maybe??

post-pit

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welcome to the jungle (Arachne Stiles)

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post pit;

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pre-pit.

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